Bardolph.
Fal.
Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry: fill me
a bottle of sack. Our soldiers shall march through;
we'll to Sutton-Colfield to-night.
Bard.
Will you give me money, captain?
Fal.
Lay out, lay out.
Bard.
This bottle makes an angel.
Fal.
An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it
make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage.
Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end.
Bard.
I will, captain: farewell.
[Exit.
Fal.
If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am
a soused gurnet. I have misused the king's press
damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and
fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press
me none but good householders, yeomen's sons: inquire
me out contracted bachelors, such as had been
asked twice on the bans; such a commodity of warm
slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum; such as
fear the report of a caliver, worse than a struck fowl9 note,
or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but such
toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger
-- 309 --
than pins' heads, and they have bought out their services;
and now my whole charge consists of ancients,
corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves
as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the
glutton's dogs licked his sores; and such as, indeed,
were never soldiers, but discarded unjust serving men,
younger sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and
ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers of a calm world, and a
long peace; ten times more dishonourable ragged than
an old faced ancient1 note: and such have I, to fill up the
rooms of them that have bought out their services, that
you would think that I had a hundred and fifty tattered
prodigals, lately come from swine-keeping, from
eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the
way, and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets, and
pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such
scarecrows. I'll not march through Coventry with
them, that's flat:—nay, and the villains march wide
betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on; for, indeed, I
had the most of them out of prison. There's not a shirt
and a half in all my company2 note: and the half-shirt is
two napkins, tacked together, and thrown over the
shoulders like a herald's coat without sleeves; and the
shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host at St. Albans,
or the red-nose inn-keeper of Daventry. But
that's all one; they'll find linen enough on every
hedge.
Enter Prince Henry and Westmoreland.
P. Hen.
How now, blown Jack! how now, quilt!
-- 310 --
Fal.
What, Hal! How now, mad wag! what a devil
dost thou in Warwickshire?—My good lord of Westmoreland,
I cry you mercy: I thought your honour
had already been at Shrewsbury.
West.
'Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that I
were there and you too; but my powers are there
already. The king, I can tell you, looks for us all: we
must away all night.
Fal.
Tut, never fear me: I am as vigilant as a cat
to steal cream.
P. Hen.
I think, to steal cream indeed; for thy
theft hath already made thee butter. But tell me,
Jack; whose fellows are these that come after?
Fal.
Mine, Hal, mine.
P. Hen.
I did never see such pitiful rascals.
Fal.
Tut, tut! good enough to toss3 note; food for powder,
food for powder; they'll fill a pit, as well as better:
tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.
West.
Ay, but, sir John, methinks they are exceeding
poor and bare; too beggarly.
Fal.
'Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they
had that: and for their bareness, I am sure, they never
learned that of me.
P. Hen.
No, I'll be sworn; unless you call three
fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste:
Percy is already in the field.
Fal.
What, is the king encamped?
West.
He is, sir John: I fear we shall stay too long.
Fal.
Well,
To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast,
Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest.
[Exeunt.
-- 311 --
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
